


The Portrait of Mr. WB

by Elpin



Category: Cranford - All Media Types, Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Artists, Bigotry & Prejudice, Crossover, First Time, M/M, Miscommunication, Multiple Voices, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elpin/pseuds/Elpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier has his art consumed by his obsession with a young, beautiful man. His oldest and dearest friend Erik Lehnsherr teases him at first, then feels the need to warn him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a huge fan of writing in any era from late 18th to early 20th with modern characters. I've done it twice with Harry Potter (check me out on FF for those) and now with this X-Men AU attempt. The beginning is inspired by The Picture of Dorian Gray, and while some plot points are lifted directly from that book, the story veers away from it almost immediately. Other elements have been lifted from the life of the author, Oscar Wilde, who is probably my all time favourite historical person. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oscar Wilde note: The title is actually a reference to a short story by Wilde, titled The Portrait of Mr. WH. Which is sort of an essay on the homoeroticism in Shakespeare’s sonnets. I highly recommend it. Also, read Dorian Grey ten times if you haven’t already because that book is my favourite of all.

'It really is your best work.' Erik sat long and cross-legged on the divan in Charles' garden studio. The glass walls and ceiling let in so much light, Charles found it the best place in the house to work.

Between the many canvasses, work tables and chairs, there were still flowers from when the room had been used to house only them. The smell of them pervaded the room, something which Erik had a habit of remarking - they made his nose crinkle. If he came here every day he should have wrinkles by the time he was thirty-five. When Charles then said he was already thirty-six, Erik would either leave in a huff, or eat all of Jacobs' - the butler's - daily muffin allowance.

Today, the sun warmed the most beautiful painting - well, the most beautiful subject - Erik had ever seen, apart from Charles of course, but he had a less conventional beauty, which made it all the more precious to Erik. The young man in the painting, however, looked like a creature out of time. Botticelli could have painted him yesterday.

He stood tall, but this didn't give him an air of authority or superiority. He was fashionably slim, but it was his face that caused one to pause. He gazed out with the deepest eyes, perfect blue, but sometimes green if you saw them in twilight. He had sharp cheekbones, a marble complexion and golden curling tresses that were combed back, giving him a windswept look. In his modern cream-coloured suit, straw trilby hat in hand, he looked part English explorer, part native treasure.

'You must exhibit it at once,' Erik continued, rummaging for his cigarette case in his breast pocket. 'You'll be the talk of London.'

'I can't,' Charles said. He stared, brow furrowed, sitting on his stool. 'It's too much. People won't believe it.'

'People don't want to believe in art these days,' Erik said with his usual world weary knowledge. 'Realism is grotesque when it is believed.'

'Your nonsense is not helping,' Charles said, eyes never leaving the canvas. 'I think I've put too much of myself in it.'

'Yourself?' Erik gave a small snort. He tapped a cigarette and put it in the corner of his mouth as he rose, coming over to the canvas beside Charles. 'I never took you for vain.'

'It's not vanity,' Charles huffed, glancing at Erik and immediately producing his matches from his pocket. Erik lit the cigarette himself. 'I know I'm not like him in beauty.'

'You're far too dark haired,' Erik said, smiling. 'Blond is always more fashionable.'

'I can't alter the circumstances of my birth to fit the fashion,' Charles shot back, referring to his very dark-haired parents.

'My sweet Charles, you have the most fashionable parentage. The penniless painter son of a penniless writer, married to a penniless violin player. I'm surprised there hasn't been a play about it in the West End.'

'If that's the fashion, then you must be the most unfashionable son in London.'

'I always make it a point to be unfashionable,' Erik said, 'which makes me the most fashionable.'

Charles shook his head. 'Your nonsense is very witty today, Erik. Besides, I'm far from penniless these days.'

'You will be soon if you don't sell some paintings.'

'I'm not exhibiting this,' Charles said firmly. 'And I'm certainly not selling it.'

'This idea of the painter being the true subject is the true nonsense, Charles,' Erik argued. He gestured to the portrait, the eyes especially. 'But of course, I couldn't be a true judge before I meet the man.'

'I knew it,' Charles said, rising from his stool and taking his brush and paints away to the worktable. 'Every time you come here, it's all about meeting him.'

'I'm your oldest friend, Charles, don't I deserve to meet this man who has bewitched you?'

'You will never meet him,' Charles said. 'You'll spoil him.'

'Is he a fruit about to fall? How could I spoil him?'

'You will talk nonsense to him, and unlike me he will not understand how to ignore everything you say. He will think you mean it all.'

'That is very unfair,' Erik said, coming over to stand behind Charles. He breathed in the scent of paints and Charles. Charles never noticed when he was working.

'I don't think so,' Charles said. 'But it doesn't matter. William is finished sitting for me. Your attempts at running into him while here have failed.'

'William, was it?'

'Blast.' Charles turned - Erik taking a step back before he noticed - and glared at him. 'Don't spoil him for me. He is… he is everything, can you understand?'

'Yes, of course.'

'No, you don't.' Charles stalked over to the canvas, gazing at the Adonis he had captured. 'He is my truest muse. My whole art. When I met him I knew my art would never be the same. It's not simply a matter of beauty. His soul speaks to mine, and together we have created my finest work. That is why I cannot exhibit this painting. It is not a portrait of William Buxton, it is…'

'A romance,' Erik finished. Charles started to shake his head. 'A romance of souls. Yes, you're quite right to fear the gaze of the cultured masses. Truth like that is seen as dishonest.'

'Your only romance is with your wit, I think,' Charles said. 'I'm sorry, that was cruel.'

'Because it was true, I shall not believe it,' Erik smiled. 'Besides, romance leaves one feeling so unromantic, which is why I only ever have romances with my wife. We play as star-crossed lovers who never find the time to meet.'

'Don't talk like that. You know how I hate it.'

'But you are an expert at ignoring me, so no harm done.' Erik realised his cigarette had burned halfway without him. He extinguished it in one of the many ashtrays Charles had taken to leave about. He was the only man in London who did not smoke, but he had more ashtrays than all of them put together.

Erik straightened his vest and buttoned his jacket over. 'I'm afraid I must be off. Aunt Agatha is insisting I come for tea, and I've gotten out of it three times in a row.'

'Yes, I know. You've been here.'

'I'll see you tomorrow.' Erik left the house to the sound of Charles' tutting, but he still followed him out and waved goodbye as Erik caught a cab.

Just as the cab rounded the far corner of the street, Erik could see all the way down to Charles' door, where another cab was arriving, a young blond man springing from it. Erik's last view was of Charles skipping down the front steps to greet his visitor.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik checked his appearance in the mirror before he left the house. He wore a light grey single-breasted coat with a matching waistcoat, white shirt and blue bow tie with matching pocket square. His trousers were a darker shade grey. His beard and moustache were perfectly groomed, and slightly pointed, with his hair combed to the side. 

He took his own hansom to Charles' house. It wasn't in the most favourable areas of London, but it suited the painter well. Compared to Erik's own address in Grosvenor Square, it was positively working class, but the clutter inside that not even Jacob the butler could fight against gave it an air of the mad genius. The furniture was frightfully old, all from Uncle Xavier who had left it all to Charles as an apology for failing his brother when they were both alive. 

Erik sometimes suspected Charles kept the house in disrepair as a clear “apology not accepted”, but had never dared ask. 

Jacob let him in without a word, as Erik was no doubt the most frequent visitor. Though perhaps that distinction was in danger. 

He almost jogged through the house to the back, where he walked through an old stone hallway, ceiling so low he had to duck, to the conservatory, its connection to the rest of the house precarious at best. The smell of paint and flowers instantly filled his nostrils, along with a gust of slightly cold air. The doors were open to the small garden, and laughter beckoned Erik outside. 

Charles was seated on the old stone bench, surrounded by flowers of every shade, and a young man. William Buxton's beauty had truly been captured, Erik realised. Even if the portrait depicted him as slightly awed by some sight the viewer was not privy to, and not in this animated way he was now in life, his spirit was still there. As he laughed, and Charles smiled, pleased his joke had worked, Erik felt a cold stab of jealousy. Which was ridiculous. He always made it a point not to be jealous. Anger could be put to use. Hatred even more so. Jealousy only helped your enemies. 

They looked so young – but wasn't Charles suppose to be Erik's age? He seemed to recall them attending Oxford together. Charles was wearing his usual painter's coat,(as he called it) a beige frock coat, and white shirt with a loose blue tie. William was wearing the same three piece he had on in the portrait, only no hat, and with a pink tie. 

'This must be William Buxton in the flesh,' Erik said as way of drawing their attention away from each other. Charles' face fell immediately, while William lifted a curious eyebrow, eyes raking over Erik's form. 

'Erik!' Charles jumped from his seat. 'You said you were going to the country.' 

'Did I? I never go to the country when I say I'm going to the country, otherwise people might follow, which would defeat the purpose of going to the country. So, my being here is entirely predictable.' 

'Charles, you must introduce us,' William said. His eyes were alight with such untamed curiosity Erik quite understood Charles' obsession with the lad. 

'No, I really shouldn't,' Charles muttered. 

'Charles thinks I will be a bad influence on you,' Erik said with a disarming smile.

'Why?' 

'He believes I'll corrupt you, which is very silly since you are more like to corrupt me.' 

'Ha! How would I do that?' 

'By being young and beautiful, of course,' Erik said. He gestured to Charles, who was still sulking. 'Your portrait has already drawn me in. Youth and beauty are great corrupters of age and wisdom, of which I profess to have a little. In fact I feel my senses already becoming entirely devoted to you.' This caused a blush to steal across William's face. 'And as we know from the moral judges in this country, the senses can only lead to total moral corruption. Which is of course why I believe the senses are the only true road to salvation.' 

'You talk like-! I don't know,' William shook his head, laughing. 'I must know your name.' 

'This is Sir Erik Lehnsherr,' Charles finally introduced. 'Erik, this is William Buxton.' 

'A pleasure,' Erik gave a snort bow of the head. William smiled. 

'Come, William, you promised to sit for a sketch today,' Charles said, turning to go back inside. 

'Can Erik stay?' William asked. 'To keep me company? You hardly talk when you work, Charles. I can't think of anything worse than sitting in silence all day.' 

'Oh, I can't possibly stay,' Erik said, noting the sigh of relief in Charles' shoulders as he went inside to gather his supplies. Erik and William followed, the latter's eyes never leaving the former's person. 'I must see a man about some business.' 

'Please stay,' William said. He turned to Charles. 'Tell him to stay, Charles. Otherwise I won't sit for you.' 

'Stay, Erik,' Charles said. 'Stay or the day will be wasted.' 

'I can not think of a better way to waste a day than to speak with new friends.' William smiled at this and went to sit as directed by Charles. Erik lay on the divan he usually occupied. 

'Your portrait,' Erik said, gesturing to the enormous thing propped up against the inner wall of the conservatory. 'It's magnificent. Charles has truly captured your beauty.' 

'It's very well done, yes,' William agreed. 'Though I can't quite believe it.' 

'That is just what Charles said would happen. Your beauty is unbelievable.' 

'That's not what I-' William shook his head, blushing. 

'Sit still, would you Will?' Charles said. His charcoal raced across the sketch book. 

'Don't deny your beauty, William,' Erik said. 'It's wasted otherwise. Well, not on us, we get to enjoy it either way. I meant for you. The world belongs to the young and beautiful, but only if they admit to it in time. Only the truly shallow deny beauty.' 

'Stop filling him with nonsense, Erik,' Charles said. 'Though I'm certain William is too clever to fall into your witty paradoxes. He's going to be an engineer, aren't you Will?' 

'Yes- well, I hope.' 

'A tragedy,' Erik lamented. 'You will be filled with education, which is the true nonsense. It's far too serious – the whole age is. The modern gentleman spends far too much time ordering all this know-how in his mind, and forgets that nonsense is the way of the world. All true intellectuals deal in nonsense. Seriousness makes wrinkles, something you should avoid at all costs.' 

'I like to think I'm avoiding becoming an intellectual by becoming an engineer,' William said, intriguing Erik. He wasn't used to getting a decent answer after his rambles. 'As an engineer I'll be doing things, building things. I want to help change the world.' 

'The world is always changing,' Erik said. 'Which is why people always stay the same.' He rose, taking out a cigarette and holding out the case to William. 

'William,' Charles said as the lad took one. Erik fished for a match, found none, then looked to Charles, who rolled his eyes and produced a box from his jacket. Erik lit his cigarette, then William's, as he spoke. 

'But I do admire you for your goals,' he said. 'Maybe you can make something useful that is also beautiful. Modernity seems entirely boring to me, surpassed only by the tediousness of the past.' 

'You're incorrigible!' William laughed, coughing slightly. 

'I do try,' Erik said dryly. Charles gave him a look as Erik returned to his seat, but he ignored it. He was intrigued to say the least. William was all innocence and excitement, a stark contrast to Charles' serious search for truth and beauty. What was the point of finding truth and beauty if all you did was weep at it? But perhaps William would change this aspect in Charles. The thought was not entirely pleasant. Charles needed to have more fun, Erik had often said so, made him do so in fact, but maybe William would lead him out into the world with his boundless enthusiasm. Change the world, indeed. 

Charles didn't need changing, Erik decided. Who else would listen to his nonsense with the proper indifference? Besides, Erik would corrupt William long before he had the chance. William would soon see exactly what all that youth and beauty could do for him. He would guide him gently of course. He shouldn't be shocked or he'd be disillusioned and go in search for truth with Charles. No, he had to see the world as it was, and understand it would be used to his full advantage with very little effort on his part. 

William smiled and asked about some relation of Erik's. Apparently he was a specimen of Aunt Agatha's. 

'This room is too hot today, Charles,' Erik said after a good hour of sitting unbearably still. 

'The doors are open,' Charles said. 

'Exactly. I say we go to the club for some cold drinks, something with strawberries.'

'You know I hate going to your club.' 

'William, do you want to go? We could catch a show tonight as well. Make a whole evening of it.' 

'That sounds wonderful!' William said. 'Will you come Charles? Please?' 

'No, I want to finish the background,' he said, gesturing to the portrait. 'You go if you must.' 

'Not to worry. I'll take good care of him.' Erik rose and William mirrored the movement. He said his goodbyes. 'Come, my hansom is outside.' They left Charles to his paints. 

XXX

'What is this place?' William asked. 

'My club- Well, one of my clubs,' Erik answered. The room they entered was filled with colourful tapestries and opulent furnishings, with hints of the Orient in every corner. Through the entrance area, a place people gathered on futons and sofas in candlelight, they entered the gambling hall. The ceiling rose three stories above them, square indoor balconies lining the walls all the way up, so one would glimpse the people up there and wonder what they were up to. Three giant chandeliers hung one below the other, with over thirty candles alight in each. Around them on the ground floor were tables of every game a gentleman would like to play. 

It was crowded, but not too much. The ladies tending to the tables and gentlemen were all of exotic dispositions, wearing red or pink gowns with low neck lines and pinched waists. Upstairs you could find other types, all types, and the boys. The boys were at the top, but you had to know where the stairs were to find them. 

William was in awe. He turned this way and that, almost tripping. One of the ladies approached him, smiling coyly, her hand brushing his beautiful curls. 

'Hello, handsome,' she said. 'What would you like to play?' 

'I- I don't know.' 

'We'll manage, thank you,' Erik said firmly. She moved on to someone more receptive, and Erik took William firmly in hand. They played blackjack for a few rounds, William's concentration drifting to the people around him constantly, and Erik made sure he got drunk. Champagne was new to him, and the bubbles made his nose tickle. 

After Erik had earned back what he had lost last time, he took William's arm and led him togethers the stairs. Not easily found unless you had been introduced to them by the Lady of the House. 

They kept to the first level. The hallways were flanked by little rooms, all draped in silks so you could glimpse movement inside but no details were discernible. William had gone a little wide eyed. The ladies who strolled these hallways were less burdened by heavy clothing. 

They eyed the new gentlemen like eager predators, Erik for his obvious wealth, William for his obvious beauty and innocence. Erik would chose wisely, however. None of these harpies for Charles' muse. 

Katrina was her name. She was red haired and stunning, with lips you wanted to suck on all day. Erik knocked softly on her door – one of the few rooms on this level that had one. She opened it wearing nothing but a red silk robe, open to the waist, revealing a long line of marble skin between her beast. 

She smiled at him, and Erik felt the familiar pull, but soon her eyes drifted to William and her gaze turned penetrating. This was something new, something to play with. She smiled kindly, took his hand, and led him inside without a word. Erik left to get a drink in one of the salons, ignoring his nagging jealousy. 

XXX 

'Sir, Mr Charles Xavier to see-' 

'How could you!?' Charles stomped past the poor butler. Erik looked up from the Sunday paper and nodded to the butler that it was fine. As Charles started pacing, Erik neatly folded his paper. 

'I do so many things you don't approve of, could you be more specific?' 

'I do not have time for your idiotic wit, Erik!' 

'That is harsh,' Erik said. 'Unfairly harsh.' 

'Unfairly? Was it fair to take an innocent young boy-'

'Three and twenty is hardly a boy.' 

'And corrupt him in the most basic yet horrendous way possible-' 

'It's not like I forced him.' 

'And then to have the gall to pretend it's some sort of education!' 

'He was an eager student, or so I was told.' 

'I've always known you were a shameless narcissistic nihilist, but this is truly unprecedented. To take my friend, my _muse_ , and turn him into _you_!' 

'Come, Charles,' Erik said as he rose. The man finally stopped pacing. 'You are being dramatic. You know you aren't very good a being dramatic. Painters never are, unless it's the modern ones who incorporate it into their style by splashing paint all over and calling it emotion.'

'Stop your nonsense!' Charles almost stomped his foot like a child. 

'Charles,' Erik said calmly. 'He is still your muse. The difference is now you get to tell a story with your paintings. The story of an education sorely needed.' 

'Gah!' Charles spluttered, throwing his hands in the air. 'You're impossible. And if you have ruined him for me I shall never forgive you!' He turned and stormed out, like he had been a gust of wind blowing through. 

'Well, you won't let me ruin you, so what else am I to do?' Erik said, unheard. He went back to his paper.


	3. Chapter 3

'Charles!' William's clear voice rang out across the room. The painter tried not to wince, but smiled instead and joined the table. Erik was already there, smoking and drinking. The restaurant was full of people, some of whom Charles would not like to offend. He could see them exchanging whispers out of the corner of his eye. The painter and his muse, he imagined them saying. 

William patted him on the back. 'Good of you to come, Charles.' 

'Not at all.' He regarded the pair shrewdly. What had they been up to? As far as he knew, they had been out every night since they had been introduced. Charles cursed that day often. 

'We're going to see a play,' William said. 'It's marvelous, you must come. Erik has a box.' 

'A play?' 

'Yes, it's called An Ideal Husband and it's absolutely hilarious.' 

'You've seen it already?' 

'Twice.' 

'He's quite taken with the leading lady,' Erik said, producing a blush in William. 

'She's very talented,' he said. 

'Ah, well, I shall be delighted to see it with you,' Charles said. They had a drink together before leaving to change for the evening's festivities. Charles hated going about in white tie, but even he had to admit it would be unseemly to appear in the theatre in his usual frock. 

The play was very clever, but the leading lady was, in a word, dreadful. Charles didn't have the heart to tell William, and simply smiled whenever the young man complimented her acting. Why on earth had he fallen for this woman? Erik seemed to enjoy it far more than necessary, taking some perverse pleasure in watching William experience his first love. He was probably betting on the day she broke his heart. 

Charles would not allow that. He would save poor William from her machinations. 

'She's heaven,' William was saying as they descended to the lobby afterwards. 

'She is certainly something,' Erik murmured from behind them. Charles shot him a look over his shoulder, smiling at William a moment later. 

'She is unique.' 

'You could sketch her,' William kept on. 'Her hair, you could capture its light so beautifully.' 

'I'm sure...' 

'Oh no.' William stopped dead three steps from the bottom. The lobby was crowded with people commenting on the play. Mayhap the playwright was somewhere receiving praise. 'My father,' he hissed. 

'Where?' Charles asked. He had heard very little about Mr. Buxton, other than he and William did not get along. He put a comforting hand on William's arm. 'We'll leave at once.' 

'Too late,' William said. A man emerged from the crowd. He had grey hair, though very little of it, and was thin like his son. William had inherited most of his looks from this man, apart from the nose, which was broader. If not for the look in his eyes, his face might have been seen as kind. He wore white tie and carried a cane. 

'William,' he intoned. 'I did not know you were seeing this.' 

'Yes, I'm here with friends.' 

'School friends?' Mr. Buxton's brow furrowed. 

'No, this is Mr. Charles Xavier, the painter,' William said, then stepped aside to reveal Erik, 'and this is Sir Erik Lehnsherr, Sir.' 

'I am familiar with both,' Mr. Buxton nodded to both in a polite enough manner. 'I know your work Mr. Xavier, and I often enjoy it. Sir Erik, I am... familiar with your activities.' 

'I'm glad my reputation precedes me. Saves me time,' Erik said. He pushed past Charles and William. 'If you'll excuse me, I see a few friends I must greet.' He quickly made himself scarce. The coward. 

'William, you will come home with me.' 

'Actually, I-' 

'You've been out and about for two weeks,' Mr. Buxton informed him. 'You will accompany me home. I'm feeling tired and need your arm. Come along.' 

'Yes, Sir.' 

'Will-' Charles began, only to be silenced by a look. This is not the battle to fight, it said. William would go now and come back later. Charles gave him a reassuring smile, and William returned it with a hint of sadness, of loss. Charles hoped it meant William wasn't as lost to Erik as he had feared. 

After they had left, Charles descended into the fray to find Erik, who chatting up Lady De Burgh. He whispered what had happened in his ear. Erik made his excuses and they left together in Erik's hansom. The cobbles were the only sound as they traversed the dark city, Charles' mind foggy with the possible outcomes of their impending argument.

'I assume Mr. Buxton is the typical severe father figure, more concerned with discipline and fear than true respect and affection?' 

'I don't know much,' Charles admitted. 'But William has intimated to me that his father does not approve of him becoming an engineer.' 

'Of course he doesn't,' Erik sighed. 'We shall have to save him.' 

'You care so much?' 

'He's a good lad. Idealistic and young, full of potential.' 

'Everything you're not,' Charles laughed.

Erik smiled. 'Yes, I suppose we will have to be his patrons as he finds his way in life.' He looked at Charles, his face oddly serious in the dim light of the hansom. 'I hope you don't hate me for showing him a good time.' 

'I could never hate you, Erik,' Charles said. 'You are my oldest friend. And only friend, most days. I just wish you wouldn't- I don't know. Before, when it was just William and I, and the painting...' 

'You're jealous,' Erik teased. 'You think I will steal him away.' 

'No! Of course not. Don't be silly.' 

Erik bumped his shoulder against Charles'. 'You are. But don't worry. He's entirely devoted to you. He talks about you so much I think you will appear as if he conjured you.' 

'Really?' The knowledge filled Charles with warmth. His art was saved. He smiled. Erik looked out at the streets. They stopped in front of Charles' house. 'Do you want to come in for a drink?' Erik often came inside after the few nights he managed to drag Charles out. 

'No, I'm tired. I think I will surprise my wife by coming home before her.' 

'Right. Goodnight then. Give my love to Joan.' 

'I will. Goodnight, Charles.' 

Charles watched the hansom disappear down the street. Why did he feel as if he had disappointed Erik in some way? He shook the feeling away and went inside. He decided he would send a message to William tomorrow, asking him to come to tea, giving him an excuse to leave the house. 

He felt so restless he decided to write the note right away so it was ready for tomorrow. Jacob had been told to not wait up, so Charles sat alone at his desk with just a single candle. About halfway into explaining why it was vital William come to tea at once, the front bell rang. Charles took his candle and approached with caution. 

'Charles?' 

'William!?' 

Outside, William was the picture of despair, with his tie undone, and face wretchedly depressed. 'I am terribly sorry, but I just had this awful row with my father. I don't know where else-'

'Don't think about it,' Charles said, ushering him inside. 'Come, please. I haven't a guest room ready, but the sofa is comfortable. Come, let me get you a strong drink!' 

'Thank you. Thank you,' William kept saying. They went to the study, and Charles lit a few more candles. William all but collapsed on the sofa. Charles got a glass of port for the lad. 

'What happened?' William took the glass and downed its contents, sending him into a coughing fit. Charles took the glass away and sat down next to him. 

'He's found me a wife!' William said. 'He is completely insane. All he thinks about is money and position.' 

'I'm sure he also cares about your happiness.' 

'He thinks I will be happy doing what he does. He doesn't know-' William looked up, eyes watering from the coughing, and maybe the outbursts. 'He has no conception of the joy I have felt since meeting you. Without you, I would not have had the courage to tell him what I truly want. Which is to be an engineer.' 

'William,' Charles said softly. 'I am touched by your regard, and gratified that I've helped you. Do not worry, you are always welcome here.' 

'Thank you, Charles.' William smiled. He touched Charles lightly on the cheek. 'My artist. My portraiture.' 

His beauty was undeniable this close. Charles had been drawn to it since the moment their eyes had met across a crowded room at his last exhibition. Together with his current intensity, Charles began to believe that he had been the one to down the port. He sat very still as William continued to touch his his face. He moved closer. Oh, dear, this was actually happening. Charles' heart was hammering out of his chest. William leaned close. Charles leaned back- too slow- and their lips touched. 

It was a good deal softer than Charles had imagined a kiss from a man to be. He was holding himself so still he was getting an awful chink in his neck. 

William pulled back abruptly, a look of guilt marring his face. 

'Oh, dear, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have. I mean, Erik and I weren't-' 

'You and Erik?' Charles stood. 

'Yes, but no,' William shook his head. 'It was just, to show me, as part of my- it didn't mean anything, I swear.' 

'Get out.' Charles turned away. 

'Charles, please, let me explain.' 

'Get out.' 

'But Erik-' 

'GET OUT.' 

William left. 

XXX

The was a dreadful banging coming from the front door. Why wasn't Jacob answering it? Charles' head was pounding along with the person at the door. Finally, it stopped. 

'Charles!' 

Erik stormed into the study, where he found Charles sleeping at his desk, head on the note he had been writing, an empty glass and carafe next to him. He slowly lifted his head, propping it up with one hand. 

'Please, not so loud.' 

'I'm sorry. Is you head HURTING!' 

'Stop, Erik, please.' He glared at his visitor. What on earth had him so upset? Then, with a sinking feeling, it all came back to him. He had thrown his friend out last night. Into the street. 'Oh, god.' He put his head in his hands. 'Where is he?' 

'He's at home, having breakfast with Joan. They got along famously right off, not that you care.' 

'Erik, I- I don't know what happened.' 

'Neither do I,' Erik said. 'William won't say a word against you, except that he had attempted to come here first, and had to leave over a small disagreement.' 

'Yes, he-' But how could he explain? He couldn't explain it to himself. One moment he had been experiencing something wonderful and terrifying, and the next he had been filled with such blinding jealousy. 

'What happened?' Erik asked. His anger had faded into concern. 

'Nothing. I can't speak of it. Please, would you give William a message for me?'

'Why should I do anything for you, when you won't even explain?' 

'I can't explain.' 

'Let me read the note then.' 

'No.'

Erik breathed through his nose, then nodded. 'Fine. I just want this sorted, so write your note.' Charles threw away the letter he had been working on last night and scribbled a new one. He wrote that he was more sorry than he had even been, that he had no excuse, and that he truly couldn't explain himself. If William saw it fit to forgive him, they need never speak of the incident again. 

He folded the note once and came round the desk to give it to Erik, who put it in his breast pocket. 

'I hope you make up,' Erik said. 'He's wretched, and I have quite enough of that sort of thing from Joan.' 

'I'm sorry,' Charles said. 

Erik nodded. 'Yes, I know.' He left without another word, and Charles went back to resting his head on his desk, until Jacob came in and asked if he wanted a bath and coffee. 

These things did much to restore him, and by three o'clock he was almost like himself, except for the nagging feeling of guilt. He tried to work, but he was useless. At six o'clock the bell rang and Charles waited anxiously for Jacob to show whoever it was inside. 

It was William, peaking into the study like an errant school boy. Charles was so grateful he beckoned the lad inside and took him in his arms. 

'I'm so sorry.' 

William pulled back and gave him a small smile. 'Apology accepted.'

'But you were tossed out like some-'

'I caught a cab to Erik's address. He paid for it,' William admitted. 'I didn't walk for more than a quarter of an hour. I was perfectly fine. It was you I was worried about.' 

'Why would you worry about me?' 

'Because you were so upset, when I told you...' 

Charles went to the study door, checked Jacob was in the kitchen, and closed it, and returned to William. 

'You must know it meant nothing,' William said. 

'And what would it mean between us?' Charles asked. 'What about your actress?' 

'It's got nothing to do with her,' William said. 'She's a goddess. I want to marry her one day, I'm certain. But Erik has taught me so much, Charles.' He took Charles' hands in his and forced him to meet his eyes. 'About life, about pleasures.' Like the night before, he touched Charles' cheek, leaning in. 

For a split second the image of Erik and William came to him, and in the next he was kissing William fully.


	4. Chapter 4

After that first night, Charles lived in a state of inspiration he could not have imagined before. His art sprung from his hands at every hour, and William was there, as subject, as muse, as friend, and sometimes, though more and more often, as lover. 

Within a month, Charles had a new exhibition of all his work under William, except the Portrait. That would never be shown. When Charles looked at it now, however, it was with new eyes, and he almost laughed at himself for his innocent admiration of the young boy. How differently he saw the world, and William, now. 

They went everywhere together, never apart for more than a day at most. To all the restaurants that would take Charles' credit, to all the plays, and occasionally even to the gambling houses, though not the ones that featured upstairs entertainment. 

Always one step behind was William's father. At every turn they had to avoid him, except in the gambling houses. He would often send a boy to collect William, claiming illness. Sometimes Charles hid him upstairs, pretending he was alone. It was all tremendously fun, and childish. Charles had never enjoyed being childish before. Strange it had taken the loss of all innocence to make him realise the possibility. 

Through it all, William would drag him to plays where she acted. Charles bore it as only an artist could, always promising to one day find a way to introduce them, so he could paint them and let them fall in love in his studio. He wouldn't mind so much if William had better taste. 

Erik watched this fiery romance as if through the glass of Charles' studio. He had known instantly when he first saw them together after that dreadful night that they had become lovers. He watched the way Charles painted William, studying the body with an eye for later pleasure. He let them have his box at the theatre. He would have let them have his fortune, if he could be spared the spectacle. Alas, they seemed to think they were being incredibly clever and secretive, as most young lovers do. Frightfully dull, the whole affair, Erik thought. 

One morning he was having breakfast with Joan for a change. She was wearing a horrid mauve dress, very fashionable, and reading the paper. She was considering becoming a suffragette, which Erik had advised against. He would much rather she simply have another affair. That usually set her straight for a good two months. 

Halfway through his coffee, the butler slipped into the room and approached him, leaning slightly to deliver the news discreetly. 

'Sir, there is a man here, a Mr. Buxton, who insists he is an acquaintance. Apparently he is worried about his missing son.' 

Erik gave a sigh. Just what he needed, to be a buffer between Charles and scandalised relations. 'Show him to the library, I'll be there shortly.' 

'Very well, Sir.' Erik could tell by his tone he did not approve of calls so early in the day, and on a Friday. 

He made an excuse to Joan, who took no notice whatsoever, and joined the formidable Mr. Buxton in the library. Erik tried to remember where the Buxton fortune lay. Salt or minerals of some sort, he vaguely recalled. Awful, middle-class, new money, was the conclusion. 

'Mr. Buxton, what can I do for your at this dreadfully early hour?' he asked as he entered the library. The man rose slowly from his seat, stiffer than when Erik had last seen him. 

'You can help me locate my son, Sir.' 

'He is not here. That is all the help I can offer, I'm afraid.' 

'Then tell me where I might find your good friend Mr. Charles Xavier. For I suspect I will find my son with him.' 

'I am not Mr. Xavier's keeper.' 

'No, but you are practically his patron. He never goes anywhere without you.' 

'He has today, and often before, I assure you.' Erik made a point not to offer the man his seat back. Mr. Buxton leaned heavily on his cane. 

'Sir Erik, I am a simple man with simple goals. One of which is to make sure my son achieves more than I have. Now, even I can appreciate the folly of youth, but William is a man who must take charge of his life. Running about with a painter accomplishes nothing.' 

'I doubt he agrees with you there.' 

'It is not the place for a son to disagree with his father.' 

'And what on earth can I do? I have no influence on either of them. They are what I call civilized bohemians. They run about as truth-seeking sensualists, but they always pay the bills. Frankly, it's distressing for a man of my convictions to be seen with them.' Mr. Buxton took no notice of Erik's comments, which proved he had not come on the off chance Erik knew where they were, but to say something particular. 

'If Mr. Xavier does not relinquish the hold he has on my son-' 

'What makes you think it is he who has the other in hold?' 

Mr. Buxton stretched to his full height. 'My son is young, and until he met Mr. Xavier he was a good son. If Mr. Xavier does not relinquish his hold on my son I shall have to take steps.' 

'Steps, in your condition?' 

'This is no laughing matter, Sir, I intend to save my son, the lawful way.' 

'I fail to see how the law can help you dictate who your son should socialize with.' 

Mr. Buxton turned away, breaking eye contact for the first time. His voice was low. 'I fear they do far more than socialize.' 

Erik waited for the man to say more, but the silence stretched. 'If you accuse Mr. Xavier-' 

'I accuse no one.' Mr. Buxton began walking towards the door to the hallway. Erik stepped aside. 'But I will, if I must,' Buxton whispered as he passed. 'And it shall not be libel, but based on hard evidence. Tell your friend that.' 

Erik did not watch him go, but went to his study, penning a letter to Charles that he needed to see him at once. 

XXX 

'Hello, Jacob, is Charles in?' Erik asked as the old butler opened the door. The man nodded and stepped aside, silently giving Erik permission to take the master of the house in hand. Erik strode purposefully to the study, found it empty, and preceded to the conservatory. It was starting to get far too cold to work in here. He knew Charles began working in his attic studio in the winter, as the light barely touched the back garden during those months. 

He wasn't in the attic, however, but sat on his stool in front of the Portrait. He had paints and brush in hand, but the brush hung limply from his right hand as he stared at the painting. 

'Charles,' Erik sighed. 'There you are. I've been sending so many messages the people of London might start to wonder if we're planning a coup d'etat.' 

Charles did not move. 'Sorry, I've been busy,' he said. 

'Yes, I can see that.' Erik looked critically at his friend and realised it was hopeless. Charles was so far in love with his muse he might do something ridiculous and dangerous. 'Charles, we need to talk about William. You must send him home to his father, for good.' 

'What?' Charles turned on his stool. 'Are you mad? I could never do that to him. His father is cruel and stupid. William deserves to be who he wants to be.' 

'He's made threats.' 

Charles gave a snort. 'What sort of threats?' 

'He will accuse you of leading his son astray. He will bring charges against you. He claims to have proof.' 

'Proof of what?' Charles rose, his face filled with indignation. 

'Of... misconduct.' 

'Misconduct?' 

'Of homosexuality, Charles,' Erik said. 'I do not know if he can prove it.' 

'Prove it?! There's nothing to prove.' Charles turned his back on Erik and went to put away his paints. 'How can he be so ignorant? Our relationship is something... something sacred. It gives life to my art as I have never dreamed possible. William is my muse.' 

'And your lover.' 

'Is that jealousy I hear?' Charles faced Erik, eyes defiant. 

Erik shook his head. 'What you hear is concern for a friend. Do you know last time I met William at the theatre he was quite adamant he was going to run away with that actress any day now? He hasn't even met her, Charles, and he's planning an elopement.' 

'So? He's optimistic. Young and full of potential, you said. Our relationship has nothing to do with her.' Charles leaned back against his workbench, crossing his arms over his chest. 

'He is gaining quite the reputation in town,' Erik warned him. 

'He is getting an education,' Charles dismissed. 'He is becoming more like you, I think, only better because he is still kind and doesn't talk nonsense all day. You should be pleased.' 

'Yes, I do fear he is becoming more like me, only he has the courage of my convictions.' Erik turned away, gazing out the windows to the garden, brown and grey in the autumn weather. 'I am, as you know, full of nonsense, and I talk and talk, but I never do anything. He, on the other hand, is putting my ill-advised philosophy into practice, and following it to its inevitable conclusion.' 

'You are jealous of his youth.' 

'His father will have you arrested!' Erik lost his temper at last, glaring at his friend. How can a man so clever be so blinded by love? Erik was glad he would never experience such a degradation of the mind. 

'William will never allow that to happen, and I will never abandon him,' Charles said calmly. Erik's anger dissipated without someone to push against it, so he decided to wash his hands of the whole affair. 

'I hope you and your muse will be very happy together. Just do not ask me to come rescue you when it's all gone to hell,' he growled the last word, stalking out of the room.

'Jealousy ill becomes you, Erik!' Charles cried tonelessly from behind, but he did not follow. 'You thought you could steal him away.' The words echoed down the small stone hallway. Erik went to the front door, meeting Jacob just as he pulled it open. He looked at the old butler and sighed. 

'Send for me when things fall apart,' he said. Jacob nodded.

XXX 

'I've just had the most wonderful idea!' William declared as he entered the conservatory. Charles was mixing paints, but stopped what he was doing to watch William's gleeful entrance, and could not help but grin at his excitement. 

'Tell me,' he said. 

'Let us go away together,' William said, coming over to take Charles' hands in his and guiding him over to the divan to sit. 'We can go to the Cote D'Azur, or Monaco, or Nice. Somewhere with sun and beauty. You could paint all day, and after we will spend our nights in ecstasy.' William leaned in and stole a kiss, placing small kisses along Charles' jaw, working his way to his ear, then down into the crook of his neck. 'I will lie on a bed of silk, naked, for you to paint me,' he whispered. 

'I don't have the money to run away with you,' Charles said. 

'But the exhibition was a sensation! You must have made buckets of money.' 

'I have made enough to keep myself self employed and a gentleman, not to mention all that we spend on the gambling houses and restaurants,' Charles said. 

'Come on, you must have some stashed away. Don't you have any work finished? Anything you put up for sale today will sell like hotcakes.' 

'I haven't a single painting ready.' 

'What about that one?' The Portrait stood in the middle of the room, ready to be touched by Charles' brush. He had been intending to make a slight alteration to William's eyes. They were too wide-eyed. Charles disentangled himself from William and rose, going over to the painting. 

'I can never sell this, William. It's my prized possession. How can you even suggest it?' 

'I'm sorry, of course you mustn't sell it,' William said, following Charles and putting his arms around him. Stealing another kiss. 'I will get some money from mother. She shan't deny me.' 

'I wish you wouldn't,' Charles said. 'She has given you too much already. Your father will be very angry.' 

'Then let him be angry,' William said. 'I have the courage to stand up to him, thanks to you.' Charles smiled, and let William kiss him more. Afterwards they stood gazing at the painting, William behind Charles with his arms around him. 

'Strange to think I looked like that once,' William remarked.

'You still look like that,' Charles said. 'You haven't aged a day since I painted it.' 

'No, I know I haven't changed physically, but there's a lack of education in the eyes I feel ashamed of today.' 

'I think it is a testament to how far you have come. In fact, I shall not change a thing about it from now on. You've convinced me of it.' 

'You mean I shall have to look upon my childlike wonder forever? Oh, Charles, I wish you would sell it.' 

'I can't. It's the reason we are here, together. The reason for every painting I have sold since that day.' 

'Ah, that is true. Let us also be together in the south of France. As soon as possible!' 

XXX 

Erik threw away his cards and sighed. He had lost more money in one evening than the whole two months combined. He was distracted and impatient. He was not a man accustomed to waiting. He almost gave the whole quest up when he finally spotted William coming down. He had been upstairs all night. The room was packed, so Erik had to rudely shoulder his way past the drunken gentlemen. 

'William,' he called. The young man grinned at him, making a salute. He wasn't as drunk as he could be. 

'Sir Erik Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you.' 

'Wish that I could say the same.' William took some time to puzzle this out, so perhaps he was quite drunk. 

'I've heard some disturbing news,' Erik said loudly over the sound of men cheering for some game one of them had won. A call of “champagne” went out. 'About your father.' 

'My father is always disturbing me, so I'm not surprised,' William said, trying to take a gulp from his glass only to find it empty. He looked forlornly into it. 

'He means to expose Charles as your seducer.' 

'Ha! Yes, he threatens that every day,' William said, placing the glass on a table. It was quickly pushed off by the excited men betting on roulette. They barely heard it shatter. 'Do you know the hardships I have to go through these days? He's cut me off completely. I have to survive entirely on Charles' gratitude. A muse's work is never done.' 

'Listen to me,' Erik said. 'You will go to your father, beg forgiveness, and grow up.' 

William gave him a look of incredulity. 'Grow up? What have all your lessons been if not to teach me how men act?' He gestured around them at the gambling gentlemen, most of who would not acknowledge their presence here when Erik met them later in their more respectable club. 'You have showed me the world, and Charles has shown me my place in it. Atop his pedestal!' 

'Charles is innocent,' Erik said. 

'If he was, he is not anymore,' William smirked. Erik felt an overwhelming urge to hit the little upstart. 

He breathed through his nose, gathering his response. 'He is innocent of deceit. He cares for you, genuinely, but he cannot weather this storm. You must cut off all ties and let him go.' 

'Deceit? You think I do not care for him? You are utterly ignorant of how we feel about each other. Since the day we met our souls have been locked together.' 

'You forget who you are talking to,' Erik said. 'Your souls are no more locked together than you are with whatever whore you've just visited.' 

'How dare you,' William spat. 'What a hypocrite! After my first night here you spoke at length about the separating of emotion and pleasure.' 

'It's all nonsense,' Erik said. 'Weren't you listening? Do not hurt him.' 

There appeared a most disturbing glint in William's eyes. In that moment, Erik knew William's education was complete. He had become what Erik set out to make him, and he was too late in his regret. What an utter fool he had been! He had toyed with the boy like a doll, making him into the villain he pretended to be. 

'You are in love with him,' William said. 'I should have realised.' He shook his head, laughing softly. 'You are a fool. A silly old man. Charles does not love you. He adores me. And we are going far away together. You might not ever see him again.'

Erik watched William glide through the crowd, not seeing the many adoring eyes that flickered to him as he went. Erik was left impotent and humiliated.


	5. Chapter 5

'Is he in?' 

Jacob nodded and opened the door wider to let Erik in. 

Erik waited for him to close the door before he asked. 'How is he?' 

'Drinking, Sir.' 

Erik sighed. He touched Jacob on the arm. 'It's good of you to stay,' he said. 

'I don't have anywhere else to go, Sir.' Erik could tell Jacob was only saying that to fend off any more emotional statements from Erik, which suited him just fine. He removed his coat, handing it to Jacob, before steeling himself for what he had to do. 

Charles was indeed drinking, but Erik had caught him early. He was lounging on a sofa in the library, a glass of port in hand. He was reading, or pretending to read, since he had no doubt heard Erik arrive. 

Erik walked right up to stand in front of him, waiting for him to look up. The stand-off lasted only a few seconds, before Charles snapped the book shut and looked up. 'Erik, what can I do for you today?' he said with forced cheerfulness.

'You can pack a case and come with me,' Erik said. No point in doing this gently. 

'And where would we go?' 

'My villa is being made ready as we speak. We could stay there, you could paint every view - and I promise they are spectacular – We'll stay until this all blows over.' 

'This?' 

Erik shook his head, looking away from Charles and sighing. Sometimes he wondered if Charles actually enjoyed vexing him. Or was he really so blinded by his love for that deceitful beauty? 'Charles, if you stay you are going to be arrested.' 

'Don't be absurd, I've done nothing wrong.' He went back to his book. Erik watched him, noting the tense shoulders and tight grip on the glass. It would shatter soon if he wasn't careful. 

'He has shown me a copy of a letter written to by you to William, and he has described... sketches.' 

'They are nothing.' 

'They are enough to get things started, which is enough to ruin your reputation.' Erik, desperate as he was to complete his mission, sat down beside Charles, yanking the book from his hand. Charles didn't react to the provocation except to take a large gulp from the port. 'You think a single one of the ladies who usually simper over your romantic scenes will want to buy a painting from a reputed homosexual?' 

'Don't be crass, Erik,' Charles muttered, reaching for the side table to fill his glass, his face reddening. 

'I am being practical. Please, Charles. Come with me. In a few years-' 

'Years! I won't be driven out of my country because of some uncultured buffoon!' 

Erik took hold of Charles' arm before he could inebriate himself further. 'Freedom abroad or destitution and possible prison here. Your choice. William is in all likelihood planning on testifying against you.' 

Charles pulled free and sprang up, port spilling everywhere. 'William loves me and will put a stop to all this. Why does no one realise that? You are just like Mr. Buxton. You can't appreciate all that William has done for me.' 

'He is a spoiled, vain, arrogant, brat-'

'If he is that, it is because of YOU!' 

Erik rose, feeling failure crawl near his heart. He took out a cigarette to calm things down, realised he didn't have any matches, and without thinking looked at Charles out of habit. Charles grimaced as if this was the last straw, and threw his glass at him. It bounced off Erik's chest, shattering on the floor. Luckily, the port had already been spilled, so Erik got only a few drops on him. 

The sound of the glass dissipated Charles' anger. 'Erik, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.' 

Erik dried himself off with his handkerchief, sighing heavily and putting the damp cigarette in his case. 'I know exactly what has come over you, but I no longer care to stop it.' He walked to the door, glancing back at Charles, who stood limp and confused. 'If you change your mind, I will be leaving England in one week. Jacob will have the details.' He left Charles to his William. 

XXX 

'Sir, I believe we should board the ship,' his valet was saying, but Erik's mind was on the crowd, scanning for that mop of dark hair. If Charles came through that crowd, Erik swore he would devote himself to Charles. They should enact a pact, like _Love's Labour's Lost_ , and be without any lovers to intellectually bankrupt them, though they might give the fasting a bit of a miss. 

Charles did emerge from the crowd, and for a brief moment Erik felt what he would many years later recognise as pure joy. He would reminisce on how it might have been the first true emotion he had ever felt, which was nonsense of course, but some things Erik would never grow out of. 

This moment of joy was shot dead by the sight of William Buxton accompanying Charles. 

'Erik!' Charles called, smiling and out of breath. 'I was worried we would be too late.' 

'We?' 

Charles grabbed Erik's arm, giving him a most intense look that startled Erik into silence. 'He must come with me, Erik, or his father might do something terrible.' 

Erik knew this was a lie, and a glance at William confirmed it, but Charles' eyes were utterly sincere. This was a plea for his lover's life, and how could Erik refuse that? 

'Of course he must come with. The more the merrier.' 

'Thank you, Erik.' 

The journey would take them across the channel, then by train across France, always south in chase of finer weather. Erik had hired a car to take them the last leg of the journey. A very extravagant measure, which William took delight in complimenting. 

The Lehnsherr villa was built on the rocks by the seaside not far from St Tropez. Having been completed only the year before, its architecture was an homage to ancient Greek ideals, with hints of Italian renaissance. It featured a grand fountain by the entrance, and a square tower at the south-west corner. A small sailboat could be found by the private dock.

It's interior made Charles gasp several times. Compared to the dark and serious Lehnsherr Manor Erik grew up in, the villa seemed to shine from an inner light. There were statues and painting everywhere, all natural scenes from mythology – with more than a little nudity – and flowery tapestries. 

'It's so unlike you,' Charles said as he wandered from room to room. 

'I suppose that is why I like it so much,' Erik mused, so soft Charles almost didn't catch it. 

Charles and William settled into their rooms while Erik made sure everything had been made ready as directed. He suspected there would only be one guest room needed despite the added visitor. 

There really was only one thing left to do: make Charles see what an utter fool William was making of him. If love blinded one to such an extent, Erik was very glad his wife had left him wide-eyed at their first meeting. She would not be coming here for the season, but preferred to stay at a hotel in Nice. She had in fact never said a word about the villa, or inquired after the costs or location, which was perfect since Erik knew from his bills she kept an apartment in Paris. Why couldn't all lovers be practical enough to accept these things about each other? 

The most galling thing of all, however, in Erik's mind, was the fact that Charles was in love with someone who was an ideal version of Erik. Ideal in the sense that he followed through with all of Erik's professed vices. He did not admit this fact to himself, but it lay at the heart of everything he did from the day they arrived in St. Tropez. 

The first evening was a display in extravagance. A little middle-class, perhaps, but it was the only way to ensure William got the message. Erik could protect Charles very easily for the rest of their lives. Charles needed William for one thing only, and one day the well(?) of inspiration would dry up. 

The next day was an outing to see every beautiful view in a five mile radius. Charles brought his sketchbook and was positively giddy all day, sketching until his hand hurt. Erik promised they could return any day Charles liked with paints.

The day after that they stayed in town, dining at the best restaurant, and sosialising with everyone else who had come to town for the season. Luckily, the rumours of Mr. Buxton's accusations had not reached the public, so Erik could present Charles as his favourite artist without fear. Many ladies asked him to come paint their view, so they could have it on the wall at home in England. It proved to be a very good evening since Charles was monopolized by the ladies and therefore far away from William at all times, who being middle-class in blood and without artistic talent, was politely ignored by most except to remark how fortunate he was to be included in Sir Erik's party for the season. 

Soon life fell into a routine, with Mr. Buxton far from everyone's thoughts. Charles would choose some outing whenever the weather was good, and paint all day. In the evenings they would dine out most nights, since Erik dreaded being alone with just the two lovers for company. Occasionally, Charles would make excuses, and William and Erik would go out, then go their separate ways. If they saw each other in any establishment, they never admitted it, though secretly Erik longed to confront William. About his gambling with Charles' money, about his affairs with men and women of every creed and station, and above all about his shows of affection to Charles. They would convince every man on earth but Erik, who could taste his own philosophy of detachment and cynicism growing stronger in the lad every day. 

The Portrait, which of course Charles had brought, hung in his studio as a mocking reminder of how it all started. The young William gazed out from it with fresh wonder, and the new William often looked at it with a smirk. 

Erik wasn't sure if he wanted to rip the portrait, or the man. 

XXX 

Charles could not help the smile on his face. The view was so beautiful, the weather perfect, and he was painting. He could see most of the town from where he was seated. How could he have refused to come here? Thank God for William for convincing him. 

As the evening approached, the light changed so much he decided the painting was as finished as could be. How strange, for less than six months ago he would have insisted on changes for weeks after, but now he felt content. Was that William's doing as well? 

He packed up and wandered down to the town, paying a local man to row him out to Erik's villa. Inside he found only the servants, which was odd since Erik usually returned to ask what Charles wanted to do for dinner. 

He had just settled down for a good read when he heard voices in French out in the courtyard. His French was not very good, but he caught enough to understand a man was looking for someone. 

When he came to the front door, he saw a handsome young man speaking to the butler. He was very young and wore a fashionable brown three piece suit. He was about Charles' height. He was local, Charles suspected, with shoulder length wild, dark hair, and a sharp, interesting face Charles immediately wished to sketch. His skin was dark from the sun. 

'I'm sorry, Sir,' the butler began, but Charles waved him away, too distracted by the strange man's kind smile. 

'Hello,' Charles greeted. 

'Hello, Monsieur,' the man bowed, speaking very good English. 'I am looking for a man, he said he lived here, but I-' the man gave a shy laugh, 'I do not know his name. He was very handsome, blond, tall, with a... commanding presence.' 

'Why do you wish to see him?' Charles asked, curiosity making him forget his manners. 

'I... I feel that our conversation was unfinished.' The man blushed ever so slightly. 

Charles cleared his throat, feeling his hands go clammy. 'I'm afraid he is not here.' 

'But he does live here?' 

'I- Yes, but he is away.' 

'Ah, will you tell him Pierre called?' 

'Certainly.' 

'And... might I know his name?' 

'Erik,' Charles bit out. 'Erik Lehnsherr.' 

'Thank you, Monsieur.' Pierre bowed again and walked away, a slight spring in his step. Charles stood staring after him until he disappeared round the bend in the road behind some bushes. 

Eventually he went inside and sat down in the drawing room. He was still sitting there when Erik arrived half an hour later. 

'Charles?' he called out as he came in, his shoes clicking on the marble. He stopped in the doorway. 'Charles?' he repeated, curious at the man's odd posture.

'A man came by today.' 

Erik slowly crossed the room, going to the cabinet to the right of the seating area to pour himself a drink. 'Oh? What sort of man?' 

'A young man, beautiful. Just the sort you like, I expect.' 

'I always admire beauty. It is the only true wisdom in this age of modern education.' 

'Spare me your quips,' Charles muttered. He got up abruptly and went to the wide glass doors, staring off into the Mediterranean. 

'My quips have always been my only defense against your anger.' 

'I am not angry,' Charles said. Erik swallowed his drink and set the glass down, cautiously approaching Charles. 

'I know your moods better than my own,' Erik said. 'What did this man want?' 

'He said- No, he didn't say exactly, but I understood it well enough.' 

'Ah.' 

So, Erik thought, Charles had finally been confronted directly with the more sordid part of William's education. Perhaps- but no, of course, Charles would simply blame Erik all the more for corrupting his love. 

'Charles,' Erik sighed, wondering how he could prevent a disaster. What if Charles decided to leave with William, to take him away from his evil influence? 'For what it's worth I am sorry the man had to come here, but it is not like you were ignorant of the fact that this sort of thing goes on.' 

Charles turned to him with a look of incredulity. 'Goes on?' he asked. 

Erik spread his hands. 'Well, yes, it does go on. Quite a bit.' 

'Quite a bit!' 

'Charles, I do not wish to speak of this, but-' Perhaps if he simply told Charles the full extent of William's corruption he would see that he had long ago surpassed Erik's influence and was running on his own steam. 'Men like the man who came today, they are everywhere, every night.' 

'A... a new one every night?' Charles looked horrified at the idea, so Erik pressed on. 

'Yes, of course. It's all fairly blatant, I'm surprised you were ignorant of it. It is really no surprise that one of them found his way up here. Not all of them are as well versed in the art of pleasure without the usual emotional attachment.' 

'Stop, please, stop! I can not listen to more vulgarity! God, how can you say such things as if you are reading out an act of Parliament.' 

'I did not want to be the one to tell you.' 

'Then I wished you would have allowed me to keep my ignorance.' 

'I'm sorry.' 

'Yes, I am too.' Charles crossed the room to the door. Hopefully, he was going to confront William and finally end the whole affair. 'I will have my things sent for. Goodbye, Erik.' 

'What?' 

Charles was out the door, and in his stupor Erik did not move. Something, he suspected, had gone very, very wrong. He gathered what little energy he had left and raced after Charles, who was already down the steps and past the fountain, almost at the gate without even a coat or hat. 

'Charles, wait, for God's sake.' Erik grabbed Charles' arm and the man spun to rip himself free. He glared at Erik with such fierce hatred Erik felt his soul crumble. What had he done? Charles still blamed him for all of it. 'Forgive me, please Charles. I did not know it would come to this.' 

'Come to what? I have always known that you were a man of the senses, as you like to say, but I- I can not live with a man like you.' 

'Like me? What are you talking about?'

'I-' Charles closed his eyes, struggling. 'It's none of my business who you spend your time with, I know that, but I just can't! So do not ask me to!' 

'My time? Charles, please explain to me in precise language what you are talking about.' 

'Your men,' Charles spat. 'Why don't you just invite them all to stay at the villa. That would save you a lot of time.' 

'My- No, Charles, no, I have not-' Erik laughed. He was so relieved. It was all a misunderstanding. Charles turned away in disgust at his merriment. 'No, wait!' Erik grabbed him again, and again Charles wrenched free, but he did not go. 'I have never met any men here, not in that way. Hell, I haven't done that sort of thing for years. It was William the man was looking for. It was William I was speaking about just now!' 

'Are you denying it now?' 

'No, I am telling you the truth!' 

'I do not believe you know what that word even means.' 

'That was harsh, but deserved,' Erik conceded. 'But I promise you it was William the man was looking for.' 

'He asked for a handsome, blond and tall man, with a commanding presence,' Charles quoted. 

Erik laughed again. 'William is handsome, far more handsome than me, that you know more than anyone. And he is very blond, blonder than me, though not as tall, admittedly, but still taller than most men I have seen him with. And a commanding presence! I can promise you he has acquired that skill.' 

'What desperate ploy is this?' Charles asked, shaking his head. 'Do not follow me. I am tired of your nonsense, once and for all.' 

Charles walked out the gate. Erik thought for a moment he would run after, but as a gentleman he refused to allow the spectacle to go on, so he straightened his tie and went inside, ignoring the stares from the servants hiding behind every corner, trying to sneak a peak. 

He poured himself another drink.


	6. Chapter 6

Charles marched down the road, the sun's light now almost completely gone. He would reach the town's lights soon, but he was beginning to regret his decision. 

Turning around was impossible, however. Erik had confessed it all as if he was doing nothing wrong but having a glass of sherry too much, and then he had the audacity to shift the blame to William! 

A new man every night. Charles had never been so angry in his life. His heart was pounding still, but soon the blush in his face faded and he realised he was alone in the dark, the moon's light just letting him see the road ahead. He heard the sea, and could glimpse lights from the town. 

He was an idiot, wasn't he? His anger now turned to shame, he was about to admit defeat when he heard the trot of hooves. A hansom soon emerged, and Charles stood to the side. 

'Arrêtez!' William called to the driver as they passed. 'Charles, what on earth are you doing here?' 

'Please, let me in and turn around. We can't go back to the villa now.' 

'Come here,' William helped Charles up and ordered the man to return to town. Putting an arm around Charles' shaking shoulders, William kissed him softly. 'What happened?' 

'Erik,' Charles said, but then realised he could not explain, for he had no idea why, exactly, he was so frightfully angry. 

William sighed heavily. 'What has he done this time?' 

'Nothing. I do not wish to even think about it.' 

'Do you know what I wish? That you would be free of him.' 

'What do you mean?' 

'He loves bringing you along like some sort of pet,' William said. 'Showing you off to his social equals, as if he is doing you a great favour to allow you to be in his company.' 

'That's not true...' 

'If you say so.' They remained silent for the rest of the trip, getting out at the Hotel de Paris, the most luxurious hotel in town, built when the Cote d'Azur was first becoming the place to be for Europe's elite. 

Charles took one look at the massive entrance and protested. 'I can't afford to stay here.' 

'I already have a room.' 

'Why?' 

'Because I was getting tired of being looked down on by Sir Erik,' William said. 'We will send for our things tomorrow. Come.' 

Stunned, Charles followed blindly into the lobby. It was enormous, with great white columns, a curving staircase to the right, and filled with Louis seize furniture. There were mirrors on every wall, making it seem endless. People were coming and going depending on how early their evening had started. William led the way to the stairs. 

'Mr. Lehnsherr!' Charles spun, expecting to see Erik somewhere in the lobby. Had he followed them? Charles would tell him exactly what he thought about that. 

It was Pierre who had called out the name, but for some reason he was running towards them, a delighted smile on his face. 

'Erik, there you are.' 

'Excuse me?' William said. 'Who are you?' 

'We met last evening, Sir. My name is Pierre. You invited me to your villa?' 

'I am sorry, I think you have me confused.' 

'I do not, Sir, I could never forget a face like yours.' 

'I do not know you, Sir, please leave.' 

Pierre's face fell and he swiftly escaped. Charles stared at William, who did not seem to notice as he continued up the stairs. 

Eventually, he realised Charles was not following. He turned, frowning. 'Charles?' 

'You know that man,' Charles said. 

William shrugged. 'I might. I meet a lot of people. But you heard him, he called me Erik.' 

'Yes, but only because he thought that was your name.' 

'And why would he think that?'

'I have to go,' Charles said. 'I have to get back to the villa.' 

'Why? Is Erik Lehnsherr your master? Please, Charles, can you not see how poisonous he is?' 

Charles smiled sadly. 'Yes, I see. But at least he is honest. In a way, he has always been the most honest of all my acquaintances.' 

'Honest?' William gave a dry laugh. 'The man takes pride in the fact that his marriage is built on lies.' 

'Yes, and they both know it, which is why it is the least deceitful of marriages.' 

'Listen to yourself. You sound like him!' 

'I think I would rather have his nonsense than your cruelty.' 

'Cruel? How am I cruel?' 

'You just broke Pierre's heart.' 

William shook his head, utterly baffled. 'Who?' 

Charles turned and ran. 

He found the same hansom to take him back, spending the last of his ready money. By the time he got back to the villa the moon had disappeared behind clouds and all was dark, except for a single light on downstairs. 

Charles found the door locked and cursed, glancing behind him to the gate, wondering if he should go round and see if the patio doors were open. 

'Don't be an idiot,' he said, knocking firmly three times. The wait was agony, and as he heard Erik's footsteps approach he almost turned and ran again. 

Erik opened the door as if he knew who was there. He looked like he had been drinking. His jacket and tie were gone, his top three buttons unbuttoned, and his eyes were glassy. He carried a lit candelabra. 

'Charles?' 

'Erik,' Charles said, then nothing. Erik simply stared, waiting for Charles' apparition to disappear. When he proved to be solid, he stepped aside to allow Charles in. 

'Did you walk around all this time?' he asked. 

'No,' Charles said as Erik locked the door. 'I went to town, then came back.' 

'You can't have walked all the way there and back so quickly.' 

'No, I was picked up by William.' 

'Ah, I see. Well, I suppose you wish to go to bed. I was thinking of doing the same. Good night.' 

'Damn and blast, Erik!' Charles cursed. 'I've been such a fool. Please forgive me.' 

'All forgiven and forgotten, dear friend,' Erik smiled, but his eyes were sad. He walked into the drawing room, setting the candelabra down on the table and picking up his half-full glass. Charles followed, at a loss. 

'Erik, wait here,' Charles said suddenly. 

'Why?' 

'Just, wait.' Charles ran, taking the steps two and a time, and returned quickly with the Portrait. Erik grimaced when he saw it. Charles placed it on one of the chairs. 

As he gazed at it, it appeared to him now as a hideous symbol of his own artistic blindness. In the pursuit of some ineffable quality of art, he had thought he had found it in William. But even then, before Erik's education, it had been a lie. It had been selfishness, disguised as youth. He saw now a certainty in William's eyes he had not seen before: a certitude that the world would be alluring, whether it was filled with bliss or melodrama, for all the world was his stage and he the star. All he had needed was Erik to show him where the drama was set. 

Charles again ran out of the room, returning this time with a knife from the kitchen. He gripped it firmly and put it to the upper left corner of the painting, cutting one long gash diagonally. He then cut pieces out of it, gathering them together until only the edges were left in the frame. He then took the candelabra and opened the doors to the patio. He walked out a few feet away from the house and set the pieces on fire. They burned well, and he quickly had to drop them to the stone floor. 

He watched the pieces burn, then went back inside. Erik was seated in the sofa, watching Charles with an unreadable expression. Charles carefully placed the candelabra on the table and sat next to him. 

'It is finished,' he said. 

'I'm sorry,' Erik said. 

'What have you to be sorry for? It was I who accused you.' 

'I mean for William. It was just as you said it would be. I corrupted him.' 

'You liberated him, and he was very ungrateful,' Charles said. 'He took all you showed him and twisted it. I do not think he ever really liked either of us.' 

'But you loved him.' 

'No, I loved what he produced in me, but it is all ugly to me now.' 

Erik glanced at the ruined portrait. 'You never loved him?' 

'If I did, I can't recall what it felt like.' 

Erik gave an involuntary sigh of relief, bowing his head.

Charles wanted to reach out. 'I must have seemed such a fool.'

'You have never been a fool to me, Charles,' Erik said. 'Even when you are foolish'. 

'How could you put up with it? The both of us, in your house,' Charles said, blushing at the thought of what William had done to him just upstairs. He had not wanted to, as he had claimed the walls were too thin, but William had persuaded him one evening when Erik had been late in coming home. 

Erik said nothing to this, so they fell into an awkward silence. Charles had never felt so odd in Erik's presence before. Slowly, Erik looked up at him, an odd thought coming into his eyes. 

'You came back when you realised I was telling the truth about William and his men.' 

'Yes,' Charles said. 'We encountered one of them in the lobby of the Hotel de Paris.' 

'So, you realised I had not been with anyone.' 

'Yes, exactly. The man recognised William, but he did not even remember him.' 

'You came back to me.' 

'Yes, as I left here Will-' 

Erik kissed him. It landed a bit clumsily, but Charles tilted his head instinctively and Erik pressed harder. Erik held Charles head in place, so Charles grabbed Erik's collar and held on. 

'Erik,' Charles gasped between kisses. 

Erik stopped, hands falling to Charles' shoulders. 

'I did not intend for you to stop.' 

'Oh.' 

Charles kissed his smile, half laughing as they opened their mouths to each other. Giddiness overwhelmed him as every nerve sparked. Growing bold, he slipped his hand past Erik's collar to the bare skin, feeling its warmth. He tasted of drink and smoke, but Charles could not care less. 

Erik stuck his fingers through Charles' hair, moaning and pressing closer. 'Charles,' he whispered. 'Let me take you upstairs. Please, I must have you, at last.' He sounded so eager and desperate. Charles nodded into the kiss and Erik pulled him up. Charles held fast, and together they kissed and stumbled their way upstairs, like school boys sneaking into their dormitory. By they time they reached Erik's chambers they were breathless and laughing. Charles jacket was on the floor and his tie followed fast. 

They paused in their merriment to light a single candle by the window. Once accomplished, Erik's last button popped and he whipped the shirt off with a grin, stalking Charles as he backed towards the bed. 

Charles felt as though his head was floating somewhere near the ceiling. Erik's chest was wide and much more muscular than a man of his standing had any right to be. At Erik's tug he pulled his own shirt over his head. 'Beautiful,' Erik whispered, taking Charles in a wet kiss, lowering him to the bed. 

Charles was certain his world had come to an end, or into being. He wanted to scream to the heavens for forgiveness. All his life he had searched for philosophic love, for that old bohemian ideal of truth now long out of fashion. And here it was, on top of him. 

Not so philosophic. 

Erik pushed up on his arms, giving Charles a wicked look before undressing him. Charles closed his eyes. It was a bit cold once he was naked, and he blushed to open his eyes, though he did eventually. Erik was naked by the bed. 

'Do you want to get under the covers?' Erik asked. Charles nodded and moved as Erik lifted the sheet. He immediately felt more at ease and nervous as Erik slipped in next to him. Erik reached out and cupped his cheek, guiding him in for another kiss. Charles relaxed. As they continuing this comfortable kissing, Charles reflected on how different it was from William's youthful energy. But he quickly banished the boy from their bed. 

Kiss by kiss, Erik moved until he was properly on top, their bodies sliding pleasurably together. Charles gasped and held on to Erik's shoulders. He parted his legs wider, blushing hotly as Erik sucked on his neck and settled against him. 

'You are mine, always and forever,' Erik whispered. 

'None of your nonsense?' Charles breathed. 

'I believe it is you who shall become nonsensical tonight.' Charles laughed and kissed him, liking the sound of that promise very much. 

'Will you let me have you, all of you?' Erik whispered. 

'Oh,' Charles said. He nodded, though he was nervous. William had often tried that, but he had always given up halfway and gone the quicker route to pleasure. Erik kissed him before disappearing under the sheet. Charles almost sat up in surprise, but then his eyes rolled back in his head and he all but collapsed against the pillows. 'Oh,' he repeated, in a much more enthusiastic tone. 

Erik led him on a merry chase of ecstasy, teetering on the brink all the while. Charles tried not to be so loud, but it was proving difficult since to keep it in was to keep his pleasure in, and that would be too much. All too soon, Erik crawled back up, settling between Charles' legs again, stroking some hair out of his face. In response to his silent question, Charles kissed him. 

He closed his eyes and kept them shut. They moved together with exquisite pressure, Erik being so patient as to drive Charles mad. Soon he was pulling at Erik's shoulders, clawing at his back, kissing everywhere. Erik did not obey, but instead gave him a most thorough education. Apparently, William had not had this lesson. 

'Open your eyes,' Erik whispered, and Charles did so. He felt a hand at his member at the peak of their ecstasy, and that was all it took. Distantly he heard Erik laughing, or moaning, he wasn't sure, as his ears were ringing. Erik buried his head in Charles' neck, losing his patience at last. 

Skin shining with sweat, Erik gave him a kiss on the cheek before disentangling them. He fell to the side with a great sigh and laugh of giddiness, which infected Charles. 

'Somehow I never imagined you so merry while lovemaking,' Charles remarked. 

Erik raised an eyebrow at him. 'I never imagined you lovemaking at all.' 

'All art and no life?' Charles suggested. 

'A jealous hope,' Erik said, causing Charles to blush, which he hadn't thought possible. He shifted closer and put his head on Erik's shoulder. 

'When you first got married,' Charles confessed. 'I think I gave up hope, even though I had no concept of this sort of love.' 

'But you know how Joan and I are,' Erik said. 

'Yes, but not then.' 

'Damnably tedious,' Erik said. 'If only I had been more handsome, I might have been your muse.' 

Charles raised his head, sitting up and looking at Erik's striking features. 'You are the most handsome man I know. William was pretty, nothing more.' 

'His forehead is far too big.' 

Charles nodded sympathetically. 'He will never grow a proper beard like you.' 

'His nose is too small for his face.' 

'Yes, and his eyes are really very dull grey, not blue at all.' 

'You took far too many artistic liberties.' 

Charles smoothed his hand down Erik's chest. 'And he is far too skinny for me.' 

Erik slipped a hand round Charles' waist. 'Hmmm, I like them skinny,' he murmured. Charles grinned and leaned down for a kiss. He then went to the window and blew out the candle before coming back to bed for a good night's rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is not finished! William still has a deal of trouble to cause, I'm afraid.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to those familiar with Oscar Wilde's personal history and might feel this is in bad taste, but I felt this was the direction the story had to go in. I won't be following the events of his life exactly, but I took a few things here and there.

Charles stretched and groaned, feeling like he had slept a day and a half. The sun was streaming in through the windows. Erik's windows. 

Sitting up, he looked about the room, but it was empty. His clothes from last night were gone, as were Erik's. 

Charles felt a mixture of numbness and bubbling panic when he thought about last night. Every past encounter with Erik, from their first introduction at school to their trip here, was now coloured by the knowledge of last night. As he reevaluated all the instances Erik had visited at odd times in the evenings, or come to him with some problem, he started smiling. 

The door opened, and Erik appeared in just trousers and a shirt, carrying clothes. He smiled when he saw Charles was up. 

'Good morning,' he said. 

'Good- yes, good morning,' Charles said. 

'You have never looked more beautiful, my friend,' Erik said. 'I suspect it has something to do with your current location.' He leaned over and gave him a kiss - Charles ruining it by smiling too much. 

'Am I to stay here all day then?' 

'Careful,' Erik said. 'I've sent the servants home for the day, so we are alone and you at my mercy.' He kissed him again. 'Come, get dressed and we will go into town for breakfast.' He put Charles' clothes out on the bed. Just the sort of thing he would have worn on a day like today. Charles did as he was bid, and soon they were strolling down the road to town. 

Things should have felt different; such a monumental change in outlook and prospects had to have effected the rest of the world, surely? But as Erik rambled on about some issue he liked to be clever about, the sun shone on unchanged. The sea was calm and sparkling, and Charles rightly ignored every witty thing Erik had to say. He began instead to consider the wider implications of their altered state of being. Would it be right for Erik to continue his praise and patronage of Charles' art? There had to be some moralist who condemned such a thing. It was terribly biased, after all. As for the events of last night, on such matters Charles was beyond the ramblings of moralists with little experience and too much ink in their pens. 

Erik was oblivious to Charles' conundrum, and was praising something about the Italians and how they should visit Venice or Rome. Charles would be inspired by the long dead builders, and Erik could admire the beautiful living. 

'I'm sure there are plenty of young artists there for you to chose from,' Charles remarked, half tongue-in-cheek. 

Erik gave him a sly glance. 'I think we have established wisdom before youth, haven't we?'

'I believe you mean age before beauty.' 

'If I ever did, I am certain you never believed me.' 

Charles laughed. 'No, though I wonder how I put up with you.' 

'Because I am your only true friend, and the world is deceitful. I, on the other hand, am an honest liar, and so can be trusted implicitly.' 

'You forget that I love you,' Charles said. 'And so I'm trapped forever.' 

Erik stopped, tilted his head at Charles as a mother contemplating what her child had done, then leaned down for a kiss right there on the road. They were still a way from town, and the bushes and trees obscured most of them, but Charles still felt a terrible thrill at the display. When they parted Erik looked him straight in the eyes, hands cupping his face. 

'And I love you, my dear Charles. Doubt my wit, my lies and eventually my hairline, but never that.' 

They continued their walk into town, and the world didn't seem as big as it had yesterday. 

XXX 

London. Good old, grey London. How had he ever doubted he would miss it? The rain darkened their coats and hats as they stepped from the docks into the waiting hansom. Weeks of darting about the Continent as if they were youths on their Grand Tour had left him exhausted. Charles' luggage was overflowing with art, though much of it was left behind in the homes of several old and new patrons they had encountered along the way. 

The house had been made ready. Erik joined him, thereby avoiding going home. 

'Why did I read so much while away?' Erik commented as he threw himself down on the sofa in the drawing room, as if he had done the exact thing only yesterday. 'I shall have nothing to do but read for days.' 

'Does some business await you?' Charles asked, looking out into the garden. It was bleak, but spring might come very soon. 

'Invitations, Charles,' Erik sighed. 'Endless invitations. Tedious.' 

'Yes, having so many friends wish to see you again. Dreadful.' 

'If you can call gossiping vultures friends.' 

'Erik-' 

'Let us go out.' 

'Out? We've only just got in.' 

'It's not warm enough in here yet. I want the familiar warmth of the club.' 

'Which club?'

'The only club worth going to, Charles. We can admire the pretty flowers there together. None will bloom in your garden for some time, I think. Come now, don't look at me like that! We've been to countless clubs across Europe.'

'Exactly, I'm tired.' 

'And the club will revive you. Come now. I want them all to know where we've been, and make the boys green with envy. Trust me, Charles. There best thing about going places is telling people about it afterwards.' 

'You are hopeless.' 

'All the more reason to give in now, and spare yourself the argument.' 

'No, Erik. I... I want to take a break from that sort of thing.' 

'Why?' 

'Because we're at home. Can't we at least pretend for a few days to be upstanding Englishmen?' 

'Very well. The regular club, then. They can hear all about the boring parts.' 

'All right. One hour!' 

They rushed out into the evening rain, going straight to Erik's old club. Things were just starting there – cards, pool, drinks – but almost at once Charles felt odd, as if the stares of the members lingered a bit too long as they passed. Erik seemed oblivious, greeting his “friends” and peers, telling them about the boring bits of Europe. It wasn't until they sat down at a table for drinks and cigars that Charles noticed the stares again. He decided not to mention it, as Erik was having far too much fun. 

One hour elapsed, then two, before Erik relented and gave in to an early night. 

'I thought I might surprise my wife by coming home a day late,' Erik said as they went down to the entrance hall. 'Perhaps I might borrow a guest room?' 

'You need to go home, Erik,' Charles said. 'I-' 

'Excuse me, Sir, are you Mr. Charles Xavier?' a servant asked. Another stood directly behind him, with their coats and hats ready. 

'Uh, yes, how did you know?' 

'We were told you would be in the company of Sir Erik Lehnsherr. This was left for you.' 

It was a card, the name Mr. John Buxton visible in a delicate script on the front, and a hastily hand-written note on the other side. 

_To Mr. Xavier, sodomite._

'Sir Erik,' the servant continued. 'The management has asked you not bring this particular guest here again.' 

'What?!' Erik's voice drew the attention of other members. 'Why? What does the card say? Charles?' 

'A misunderstanding, only,' Charles said, tucking the card away in his jacket. He took his coat and hat from the servant, who seemed to withdraw his hands a second too quickly. Charles ignored the stares and walked out as stiff as he could manage. 

He looked up and down the dark street, the rain pouring icy cold. He heard the clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestones and raised his arm when he saw it was a ready cab. 

'Charles, what did the card say?' 

'Nothing.' It stopped and he got in. Erik followed. They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Charles said: 'Libel.' 

'What did you say?' 

'Libel,' he said. 'It's damn libel. He doesn't have proof.' 

'Give me the card.' Charles did so. Erik studied it with more seriousness than he had probably ever mustered before. He sighed. 'Toss it out the window, or better yet, burn it. Forget about it.' 

'Forget about it?' Charles snatched the card back lest Erik do one of the things he suggested. 'This is evidence of libel. This man is trying to ruin my reputation. For all we know he has been spreading rumours about town the entire time we've been away.' 

'Charles, do not do this.' 

'Do what?' 

'Challenge him. He is a mad man with a twit for a son, but he is also a business man, and business men – as vulgar as they are – never do anything that doesn't fall in their favour. A move such as this,' he gestured to the card. 'It is too bold. Too public. He must have some proof.' 

'No, the letters-' 

'You think William wouldn't happily show them to dear Father, so he can show him how corrupted he was by you?' 

'This is... intolerable.' 

'This is middle-class morals. Nothing you should concern yourself with.' 

'Oh, do try not to be clever right now, Erik! My livelihood is at stake!' 

'We can go straight to the sea and escape to a more civilized place at once.' 

'I am not running away.' 

'Suing him for libel is idiotic. You're a fool if you let this get to you. Honestly, Charles, we could go straight back where we came from – we don't even have to pack – and stay there for as long as needed.' 

Charles knocked hard on the roof of the cab, and it mercifully stopped despite the noise from the rain. 'Charles,' Erik admonished as he got out. 'Charles, it's pouring down.' 

'I know you hate to be in the company of fools. I can't imagine how you feel about a sodomite.' 

'Stop this at once!' 

Charles walked away, but Erik got out after him, taking hold of his coat. 'Let go!' The street was deserted except for them and the driver – who suddenly urged his horse on and left them there. 

'Wait!' Erik called, letting go of Charles to try to hail it again. Charles walked off in the other direction. 'Oh, for-!' 

Erik's long strides put him in front of Charles easily, forcing him to stop. 

'Just come with me and we can forget all this.' 

'Sir Erik,' Charles intoned. 'I am going home to my house. A house I was lucky enough to inherit. Had I not, I would be scraping by in a tiny flat somewhere far removed from your circles. Your friends buy my art to impress you, but without my good reputation that will not be enough.'

'You're selling yourself short, Charles,' Erik said. 'You've been an absolute hit on our travels!' 

'I live in the real world, where a reputation actually means something. It is not a linguistic construct you can toss about in your philosophical ramblings about society. I will not allow him to destroy my livelihood!' 

'But Charles,' Erik said. 'What he wrote... you do realise it isn't actually libel?' 

Charles said nothing, and walked pointedly around Erik. He ignored all further calls, especially the rude ones. By the time he got home he was shivering and soaked through. If he was lucky, he might catch something.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies to those familiar with Oscar Wilde and 19th century English court procedures. I don't think there is any more to the story. If anyone wants a little smutty epilogue, leave a comment :)

Erik marched across the gravel courtyard. A young man, looking from this distance as a man just engaged in joyful exercise, was dismounting at the opposite entrance. He jumped off his steed with a carefree attitude. He handed his gloves and hat to an attendant. His costume was flashy, his riding had been awkward – not a man who had ridden all this life. 

'Mr. Buxton,' Erik called. 

William almost faltered at the sight of him, then raised an accusing finger. 

'You stay away! Go away at once, leave my property.' 

'Your father's property. Trust me, you will never acquire any of your own.' 

'I am calling the police.' 

'Trust me, I will not stay long enough for that.' The horse had been led away, so it was only the two of them in the yard. Perhaps the servants were running to their master, if he was at home. William's hair was damp with sweat, his breath was showing on the air. 

'Bit cold for riding,' Erik commented. 

'What do you want?' 

'Just answer me one simple question and I will gladly never gaze on your pretty face ever again.'

'Then ask and be done with it.' 

'What information have you given to your father?' 

'Enough.' William sneered, walking past Erik towards the entrance to the manor. His dear father's newly bought manor. 

'I wonder what you see when you look in a mirror. Your beauty does a wonderful job at hiding that ugly soul of yours.' 

'I have no interest in hurting Charles,' William said as he spun to glare at Erik. 'If anything I did it to annoy you, my glorious creator. Aren't you proud of your accomplishment?' He made a mocking bow, then turn to leave again. 

'Then tell me to give you something, in return for calling your father off.' 

'Off? It is not my father who is pursuing litigation.' William stopped a second time and gave him a curious look. 'In any case, I was bored with the whole thing after my revelations to Father. I simply do not care what happens to either of you. I suspect I shall live my whole life to the purest hedonistic values, and never think of you again.' 

'Charles burnt your portrait, you know.' 

William's left eye twitched. It had been a magnificent painting. Worthy even of this shallow brute's admiration. 

'I'm sad for it now,' Erik continued. 'I should have liked to look on your perfection while seeing the true thing wither and grow old before your time. Ugly souls burn through beauty much quicker. I can see it now – you, old and decrepit, gazing longingly at your lost perfection. You would make a pact with the Devil himself to get it all back.' 

'Your existential musings are riveting, as always, Sir Erik, but I must go. I have a luncheon with Lady Chadwick and her darling group of admirers. I'm sure she will be too fine a Lady to mention that sad, pathetic painter chap who is trying to destroy an honest man's reputation, but if one of her friends does allude to it, you can be certain I will set all her facts straight. We wouldn't want baseless gossip to sway public opinion.' 

William left with a smug smile. He had never looked so unattractive.

XXX 

A most curious case was about to be tried at the Old Baily. Mr. Buxton, a respected salt merchant, accused of libel by a bohemian, sodomising painter. No one knew who this painter was, but he was clearly the sort to resort to this sort of thing to gain publicity. The case, the gossip, and the sheer fact that such a thing rarely ever made it to trial, made the papers soak it all up and spew it out to the public. Suddenly, it was on everyone's lips. It was as if Charles Xavier had ignited society's moral conscience. He was famous at last, the great irony being his paintings wouldn't be worth much until about two decades after his death, when the scandal had turned into a naughty tale. 

The trial opened on a bleak April morning, its somber note being at once overpowered by the nattering of reporters in the gallery of the courtroom. 

Erik and Charles had not spoken since their argument. A few friends from Erik's favourite club had come by to wish him good luck or to warn him off it. His butler was still in his employ, loyal to the end. As for Charles' own friends: most of them had decided to go abroad. The ladies he had so often entertained and painted for where eagerly awaiting news of the scandal, and several had sent servants to stand in the courtroom gallery to observe and report to them directly. 

The room was filled to the brim – Erik in the front row on the upper gallery – and William Buxton himself nowhere to be seen. 

Charles was put to the stand, examined by his own lawyer, Mr. Cheeveley, first on the contents of the letters he had written to William Buxton. Most of them were innocent little notes, begging him to come over to finish the painting. Others included a few compliments and slipped into flowery language about muses and inspiration. Nothing remotely damming in any of them. 

Mr. Buxton's lawyer, a Mr. Hardwick, cross-examined him next. 

'Mr. Xavier, in your letters to William Buxton you repeatedly compliment his beauty.' 

'Yes, as an artist I admired him.' 

'You painted a life-size portrait of him, did you not?' 

'Yes.' 

'Where is this portrait now?' 

'I... I burned it.' 

'Why and when was this done?' 

'In Saint Tropez, I decided I wasn't happy with it.' 

'A very extreme measure to go to, just because you didn't like it, especially considering you brought it with you when you went abroad?' 

'I changed my mind about it.' 

'I put it to you, Mr. Xavier, that you burnt the painting because it showed your unnatural lust for the subject.' 

'Preposterous! I only ever admired him as an artist, as you would Michelangelo's David.' 

'I present to the court several sketches that Mr. Xavier did of the purposed painting prior to completing the final work. As you can see, they show an unhealthy obsession with the subject. The...' Mr. Hardwick gave an uncomfortable cough. 'The nude sketches are so far removed from any artistic merit-' 

'I would like to ask the court when Mr. Hardwick received his degree in Art to give such a decisive opinion on that,' Mr. Cheeveley objected. The ho-hums and hisses from the crowd drowned out the response from the judge. After boos and shouts of “shame” the judge banged his gavel, finally telling Mr. Cheeveley to sit down. 

From there, things only got worse. 

XXX

The hotel lobby was nearly empty, its gilded glory seeming to mock the state Erik was in. He was rather more fit for a dungeon, or a battlefield, depending on the ups and downs in his optimism. At that moment when he spotted Charles sitting in a corner of the restaurant – the wait staff all shying nervously away from him – he was afraid. 

Erik sat down across from him, noting the empty glass of some hard liquor. Charles rested his head on one hand, the elbow of his arm perilously close to the edge of the table. He gazed into space with a vacant expression, not acknowledging Erik's arrival. 

'Charles, you must come with me at once. There is a carriage outside, ready to take us to Dover.' 

No reaction. Erik glanced through the windows to the busy London street. The world was moving at its usual pace, no sign of the reporter mob that had encircled the Old Bailey. Charles had slipped out unseen, but his location would not go undiscussed for long. The manager was at that very moment whispering with several waiters. 

'I am sorry,' Charles said suddenly. 'I know you don't care about your reputation, but your name was dragged into this as well.' 

'A minor mention during the cross examination,' Erik dismissed. 'I haven't heard mention of it in the presses. I fear they know how little I care, and so it's no fun to bait me.' 

'Still, it was my fault. And during the next trial they might harass more details from me. He was very good at that, Buxton's lawyer. But of course, it won't be him prosecuting for the state.'

Charles' voice was monotone. He picked up the glass with his free hand, looked into it, then put it down again. His red tie was completely undone, the top button of his shirt was missing. He had on his best dark grey suit and light brown frock coat – no one had taken it from him. His hat appeared to be missing. 

'There won't be another trial,' Erik said. 'Get yourself up and come. We will be in France by morning, and then I thought Berlin might suit. Most of the boys have already fled there.' 

'Poor boys,' Charles said. 'I put them all in danger. It's open season on sodomites!' 

'Charles!' Erik grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at him. His eyes were glassy. 'Listen to me. You lost the case, and your precious reputation, but for the love of God do not throw away your life as well!' 

'Have they issued the arrest warrant?' 

'Yes, and they might be on their way here. I do not know if you will be granted bail, Charles. This might be the only chance we have.' 

'No, I will not run.' Charles sat up straight. 

'Principles be damned, Charles!' 

'No, there are no principles, only truth.' 

Erik took a deep breath. 'Very well. If this is your decision, I shall stand by you.' 

'You mean that?' 

'Yes, of course I do. But please let me take you home before they arrest you. Do not give them more cause for mockery. Let's get your cleaned up and in a new shirt at least. Then you can face them in a dignified manner.' 

'Yes, yes, you're right.' Charles rose, wobbling slightly. 'I will not be arrested drunk in a hotel restaurant like some dandy. Let's go home.' Erik took his arm and led him out, ignoring the stares from the staff. Outside the carriage was waiting. Erik nodded to the driver, and helped Charles up. 

Charles collapsed against the seating, exhausted. Erik let him slip into a deep sleep before he got the rope out. 

XXX

Erik was apparently the most skilled kidnapper in all of England. Charles, spiritually and physically exhausted by the country's ludicrous display, had not awoke during their escape from the city. Erik himself carried the unconscious man onto the waiting ship, a trading vessel whose captain didn't mind sodomy as long as he got paid. 

France never looked quite so inviting or free in that moment when Calais came into view. Charles grunted a few times and opened his eyes, but Erik shushed him with a few soft words. 

When the sun rose, the bumpy road helped wake the sleeping artist. He blinked several times, looking out the window at the dew-covered landscape rolling past. Erik could see the wheels turning in his head – registering the absence of London, the impossible hour of the day, and at last the ropes constricting his moments. 

'What- Erik, what have you done?' 

'I have saved you. Physically and morally.'

'What?' 

'Your bravery and your principles are untouched. I have kidnapped you in order to spare you the personal guilt at running away.' 

'Erik, stop this carriage. Stop, please, turn around at once, and UNTIE ME!' 

'No,' Erik said, leaning forward. He grabbed Charles' shoulders and steadied him so their faces were very close. 'Listen to me, Charles. I will keep you shackled for as long as it takes.'

'You're insane!' 

'No, it is you who have lost your mind. You wanted to press libel charges, and I stood by. I accepted the fact that you wished to save your reputation. You lost. All of London knows you are a practicing sodomite, and _they will condemn you for it._ They will put you in prison, for years. I know you are strong, but hard labour isn't for you. It would destroy you.' 

'There's more-' 

'No, there is nothing “more”. There is no reason on this earth you can give me that would convince me to let you stay. Those people back there do not deserve the satisfaction of having their horrid beliefs confirmed. Is that what you want? To let them have a day of glory by shaming and killing an innocent man because he dared to love? You would rather see them eat you alive, gleefully, then to live out your days in comfortable exile with me?' Erik gave a sad smile. 'I know my company can be draining, but surely I'm not as bad as all that?' 

'Erik-' 

'Please.' Erik got down on his knees in the rocking carriage, pressing close, his hands going up to hold Charles' face. 'The world is waiting for us. Full of true friends and new ones. I know your pride hates to take anything from me, but if that is so, then I ask you not to take yourself from me. I can't let them have you. I'm too greedy, Charles. It's a hopeless vice I'll never be cured of.' 

'Stop, please, I accept,' Charles said, causing Erik to lean back in surprise. 'You're right, you are, I am being sincere. I was blinded by- by William, again. I thought, no, I hoped, he might withdraw or change his mind. I thought it was about principles. About the purity of art. But it wasn't. It was all silly bourgeois morals, just like you said.'

'So, if I untie you, you will reframe from jumping out of the carriage?' 

'If you untie me I will not reframe from kissing you every step of the way to Berlin.' 

'I don't know... I can kiss you just fine like this, since I decided not to gag you.' 

'Erik!'


End file.
